"Then Morton Said to Elway. . .": The Best Denver Broncos Stories Ever Told

By Craig Morton and Adrian Dater

Written for every sports fan who follows the Broncos, this account goes behind the scenes to peek into the private world of the players, coaches, and decision makers—all while eavesdropping on their personal conversations. From the Denver locker room to the sidelines and inside the huddle, the book includes stories about Lyle Alzado, Tom Jackson, Dan Reeves, and Jim Turner, among others, allowing readers to relive the highlights and the celebrations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triumph Books
• Release date: Sep 10, 2008
• ISBN: 9781617491993

Book preview

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1. From the Big Apple to a Cow Town

2. The Last Denver Years

3. The Formative Years

4. Teammates

5. Authority Figures

6. The Broncos, Pre- and Post-Morton

7. Stories, Opinions, and Other Thoughts

8. Retirement: New Adventures

Sources

Photo Gallery

Preface

This book is primarily about a man who I didn’t know at all when I started writing it. Sure, I knew of Craig Morton, but I had no idea about the real person. Thanks to Alexander Graham Bell’s invention and one glorious afternoon spent at a restaurant overlooking the sparkling Pacific Ocean, I got to know Larry Craig Morton. I am glad for having had the opportunity.

Time and again, over several months of talking to him, I heard about what a great guy so-and-so was and what great times were had together. This was not delusion or spin, I would soon learn. All the people Morton called friends called him one right back.

Of all the things Craig Morton is and has been in life, perfect is not one. Many of his foibles are detailed in the pages ahead.

But they say wisdom comes from humility, so today Morton is a very wise man. His has been a full life—and that means success, failure, joy, and pain. He has been a brash idiot and a humble old man. He knows what buying a brand-new Jaguar feels like and the embarrassment of filing for bankruptcy. He knows what it feels like to be handed a Super Bowl championship ring and to fail miserably in football’s biggest game. He knows the miracle of fatherhood and the blackness of divorce.

This is not a pure biography. It is a collection of memories, his primarily, but also those of his many teammates. The word teammate, to Morton, means friend, so mainly it’s a story about friends.

It is also a snapshot look at one of football’s greatest teams, the Denver Broncos. Entering 2008, the Broncos were the only NFL team with more Super Bowl appearances (six) than Hall of Fame players (four). Only two HOF players, John Elway and Gary Zimmerman, spent more than one year with the team. There is plenty of injustice in that, but it can’t dim what has been a marvelous team history. The Broncos helped turn a Dusty Old Cow Town into an internationally renowned city that hosted a pope, a Democratic National Convention, and even one cast of MTV’s show The Real World.

Craig Morton had something to do with that. He quarterbacked the Broncos to their first Super Bowl in 1978, a team that will forever be known as the Orange Crush. Today, the No. 7 jersey of the Broncos is retired, instantly recognized as belonging to Elway, Morton’s successor.

But there are still many hardcore Broncomaniacs who proudly wear a No. 7 jersey with the name Morton on the back. To those fans, and hopefully many other casual ones, this book is a look inside that original No. 7. Or, as the label on a bottle of Jack Daniels says: Old No. 7. There is no shortage of irony there, as you’ll soon see.

Overall, this story is about a gentleman, as Morton’s good friend Dan Reeves called him. Not a saint, or a choirboy, but rather a gentle man, who chose a life in a rough profession and lived to tell about it.

—Adrian Dater

Acknowledgments

To all of you who have touched my life, I thank you very much. I have been so privileged to know the best of the best. My friends are my soul and without their influence and lessons learned (some easy, some more difficult), I would have had very little success. I can't name all of you but please know that you have brought me the joy, success, and happiness we all strive to have.

—Craig Morton

I would like to, first of all, thank Craig Morton for his generous time and effort in making this book possible. Without him, there is no book. Also thanks to his wife, Kym, for her advice on getting over a particularly awful cold during the writing process.

Also thanks to the following former players and coaches for their time and insight: Jim Turner, Mark Schlereth, Frank Tripucka, Jason Elam, Rod Smith, Roger Staubach, Randy Gradishar, Billy Thompson, Dan Reeves, Marlin Briscoe, and Rich Karlis.

Thanks to the following media friends and colleagues for their insight: Woody Paige, Mark Kiszla, Terry Frei, Sandy Clough, and Gary Miller.

Thanks to Dallas Cowboys fan nonpareil Chris Spaulding for his insights into the teams of the 1960s and ’70s.

Thanks to my bosses at The Denver Post for allowing me the privilege of writing the book, and to the librarians at the paper for helping me pore over the archives.

Thanks to the publications and other media sources mentioned in the text for material that contributed to this book.

Thanks to my wife, Heidi, and son, Thomas Alan Michael, for allowing me to sneak away to the computer too many times.

—Adrian Dater

Introduction

A lot of football fans, when they remember the career of quarterback Craig Morton, recall only his years as a Denver Bronco. And why not? They were probably the best and most exciting of his 18-year NFL career.

But not many, other than fervent Morton fans, remember that he played 12 years previously in the league with the Dallas Cowboys and the New York Giants. He led the Cowboys to their first Super Bowl in 1971, losing a tough 16–13 decision to the Baltimore Colts; got a Super Bowl ring with the victorious Cowboys in the next Super Bowl; and was the valiant quarterback on some otherwise bad Giants teams from 1974 to 1976.

In April 1977, Morton was traded by the Giants to the Broncos in a deal that sent quarterback Steve Ramsey to New York.

By this point in his career, Morton was considered as possibly on his last football legs. Those legs weren’t in such great shape. His body was battered in his time with the Giants, a team with a porous offensive line that left Morton feeling like he was the last fighter standing at the Alamo.

But instead of a last year or two in the literal and figurative twilight of the Rocky Mountains, Morton thrust himself, his team, and his city into the brightest spotlight of pro football.

The 1977 Broncos would go on to their first Super Bowl with Morton leading the way. He would spend another five seasons in Denver, and although another Super Bowl wasn’t in the cards, he played in numerous unforgettable games that live on in Broncos history.

When football fans in Denver today remember their quarterback who wore the No. 7, most naturally think of Hall of Fame player John Elway, the Duke of Denver. Elway succeeded Morton in 1983 and played until 1998, winning Super Bowls his last two years as a player.

But there are still many Broncos fans who think of Morton as the real No. 7. While Elway retired the number when he quit as a Bronco, a No. 7 also hangs next to Morton’s name in the Broncos’ official Ring of Fame at Invesco Field located at Mile High Stadium.

Craig Morton was the first quarterback in Broncos history to have the entire city idolize his every move. He gave the locals, who’d suffered through much awful football since the team’s 1960 American Football League inception, their first taste of big-time success.

Never a very mobile quarterback, Morton had a gunslinger’s arm and mentality. He had one of the stronger throwing arms in NFL history, certainly of his era. He was also one of the toughest players. A pure pocket passer, Morton took the kind of physical punishment that probably would have been too much for most of his contemporaries to endure. Morton had an amazing ability to play through pain. During the AFC Championship Game in 1977 against Oakland, his entire left leg and hip were literally black with congealed blood.

Morton took some terrific beatings, especially in his days with the Giants. His response was almost always the same: he’d just get right back up and call the next play.

This book is a collection of Morton’s memories of his Denver playing years. A few other memories are sprinkled in from his time with the Giants and Cowboys. This book also includes little-known facts about his life, pre- and post-football. Mistakes? Yeah, Morton has made a few, and he doesn’t shy away from detailing some of them here. It is story of a man who grew up picking apricots and prunes in the quiet orchards of Northern California and later became the leader of a team nicknamed the Orange Crush.

1. From the Big Apple to a Cow Town

"So, McVay calls and tells me, ‘We’re really sorry, Craig, but we’ve traded your rights to the Denver Broncos.’

"‘Well’, I said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me? That’s GREAT!’

—Craig Morton

New York City was quite an interesting place to be in the late ’70s. It was a time marked by terror, with a serial killer nicknamed Son of Sam on the loose. It was time when the city’s coffers were literally empty, with high unemployment and inflation. It was a time when the New York Yankees were nicknamed ‘The Bronx Zoo’ from all its colorful characters, including a brash owner named George Steinbrenner.

Furthermore, one of the city’s football teams, the New York Giants, didn’t add much excitement to the mix. The Giants were awful. This once-proud franchise was reduced to playing in whatever venue might take them, which in the mid-1970s included the Yale Bowl in Connecticut, Yankee Stadium, and Shea Stadium. A new stadium was under construction for the Giants, slated to open in 1976, but it wasn’t in New York City. It was in New Jersey, on a piece of cheap marshland called the Meadowlands.

From 1974 to 1976, the Giants’ quarterback was Craig Morton. He was obtained by New York in a trade with Dallas. Despite being in his early thirties, Morton thought his best playing days were ahead of him. In his early years with the Cowboys he didn’t play much, as he was the backup to Don Meredith and he often split time with Roger Staubach in the later ones.

But as Morton would soon realize, playing for the Giants was nearly a career killer. He played a lot, sure, but much of his time in a Giants uniform was spent trying not to get the holy Hell kicked out of him.

"I remember I was traded by the Giants in April of 1977, and everybody thought I was about washed up because we were such a bad team. The funny thing is, when I was traded by Dallas to the Giants, I had said I just had to get out of Dallas, because with Roger (Staubach) and I there, it just wasn’t going to work. At first, it was going to (be) Roger that went, then in the middle of the last season there, I just asked to be traded. I thought I was going to the 49ers, but at the last minute they traded me to the Giants for a No. 1 draft choice, who turned out to be Randy White. So that was a good trade for them.

"The first day I walked into the Giants Stadium, it wasn’t a particularly good time in the city. That’s when they were running out of money, and President Ford had to bail them out. I had a great time in New York, as far as being a bachelor and all that, but I remember getting to LaGuardia and the guy from the Giants was late picking me up, and I said, ‘What in the world have I done? Is this the dumbest-ass move I’ve ever made, or what? You should have kept your mouth shut.’

"With the Giants, the first day I got there, I learned you had to get there early. Because, unlike the Cowboys, who always had all your gear in your locker and it was always perfect and real professional, the Giants had three stacks of clothes. One was a stack of socks, one was a sack of jocks, and one was a stack of T-shirts. You had to get there early to get any socks that would stay up, any jocks that weren’t broken, and a shirt that wasn’t shrunk up around your belly button.

"I just said to myself ‘you’ve really made a great decision to call home here,’ because this is not a good organization. We played at Yankee Stadium, we played at the Yale Bowl, we played at Shea Stadium, then we opened Giants Stadium. And we weren’t good at any place we played.

"After the last season (1976), our coach, Bill Arnsparger, was fired. So, I get a call from John McVay, who was the interim coach. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I didn’t want to go back to New York. The people didn’t like me there; they were cursing and yelling at me. I used to get my friends around me and we’d run to my car, because we didn’t have a protected area to park in those days. But my friends were faster than I was and the fans would catch up with me, and let me have it. It was just horrible, not a good deal at all.

"So, McVay calls and tells me, ‘We’re really sorry, Craig, but we’ve traded your rights to the Denver Broncos.’

"‘Well’, I said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me? That’s GREAT!’ Because, one of my last games with the Giants was against the Broncos, and in preparation for playing them, I found (out) that they were already a pretty good team. They had a great defense. Their offense wasn’t so good, but they didn’t make a lot of mistakes.

"And, another great thing was that a friend, Johnny Walker, and I had a place up in Aspen that we used to go to in all the off-seasons. So, I’d known Denver and loved it. I thought the Broncos had potential. So, I just thought, ‘God, this is great.’ And, of course, they had a new coach in Denver, Red Miller. Denver took my contract from the Giants, and it was a good little contract. I think I was making $100,000 to $150,000 a year at the time, I can’t quite remember which. But it was good money. And, the thing is, I wasn’t assured of having a job in Denver. They already had Craig Penrose and Norris Weese as quarterbacks, and they also brought in Steve Spurrier.

"But I had a good feeling about things, from the first moment I walked in the locker room. That first time, I see this big old guy sitting at the end of the room. It was Lyle Alzado. I knew him by name…and from him just kicking my ass in the game we played. And I went up to him and he says, ‘Craig Morton—NOW we can win a championship.’ So that made me feel that, hey, maybe somebody’s on my side here.

But the funny thing was, in my first training up, my first roommate was Craig Penrose. So, here we are, both wanting the same job. And Spurrier was there, too. He’d had a pretty good career to that point. Not great, but pretty good. So, there was competition for the job, but not to the point where I thought I was in danger of not getting the starting job. But me and Penrose would hang out at the local bars in Fort Collins, and they had a fan poll one night on one of the stations about who should get the starting job. Penrose and I were looking up at the screen and Penrose had the majority of the votes, and I had, like, 6 percent. And I said, ‘Boy, I’m still a piece of crap.’

The Old Man’s Still Got It

Despite the bad few seasons in New York, and a body that was starting to resemble a ’53 Chevy on Demolition Derby Day, Morton hadn’t given up on himself, probably because he knew he still had a gun for an arm.

In NFL history, Morton’s arm compares favorably to most of the greats who got considerably more publicity and trophy hardware. Morton said that when he was growing up in California, he could actually throw a football faster than a baseball!

But after 12 years in the NFL, Morton’s knees started deteriorating and his somewhat pigeon-toed walk would become a source of locker-room humor throughout his career. Through it all, Morton always had that gunslinger’s arm, and that’s why he entered the 1977 season with his new team’s confidence. If nothing else, Morton was just happy to be in a new place.

"As training camp got started and went on, I knew I could still play in the league and be effective. I had just wanted to be on a better team, one with a good defense, and I knew this team had one. I was just so happy to be out of the Giants organization by then. There were no more fights everywhere, even on the way to the locker room after a practice or a game like we had there. It was a joke.

But in Denver, I started feeling good about things again. I always had a great arm, and it was still there. Mentally, I could also play no matter how much I was hurt. I always thought, ‘Nothing can hurt me.’ I’d played with as much pain as anybody could play with. But through all that, I always had a strong arm. And with Denver, I knew I was going to be able to use it, but not have to throw 40 times a game because we had no running game. I could throw when I needed to, I had a feeling, and I just thought, ‘This is going to work out here.’

New Coach For A New Quarterback

After the